


In Which Mycroft is Captured by Pirates

by DoctorTrekLock



Series: AU-gust 2020 [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Historical AU, Internalized period-typical homophobia, M/M, Pirate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25832803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock
Summary: “Pirates! Pirates! All hands!”Mycroft forced his breathing to remain steady. It wasn’t an unanticipated occurrence, he reminded himself. In this part of the world, pirate attacks were commonplace.He quickly bundled his papers together into a pile and sealed his inkwell. The two most important sheets he folded in half and tucked into his shirt against his skin. He pulled the knife from his boot and the pistol from his drawer. He laid them on his desk in plain view of the door and backed away as much as the room would allow, keeping his hands easily visible.Then, heart thumping in his ears, Mycroft waited to be found.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: AU-gust 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870924
Comments: 7
Kudos: 75





	In Which Mycroft is Captured by Pirates

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 10, 2020 on [Tumblr](https://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/626111152841228288/au-gust-10-pirates-au)

Mycroft was squinting at his half-drafted report in the thin light of the single lantern he had been begrudgingly given when he heard the first shouts. He looked up and frowned at the door of his chamber, which was rather easy, since it was about a foot to his left.

Shouting was not uncommon on any sea-faring vessel, but the tenor of these cries was unusually shrill. After a moment, one of the sailors must have ventured closer to the cupboard-sized quarters he had been allowed, because he distinctly heard the words this time.

“Pirates! Pirates! All hands!”

Mycroft forced his breathing to remain steady. It wasn’t an unanticipated occurrence, he reminded himself. In this part of the world, pirate attacks were commonplace.

He couldn’t help himself, however, from quickly running through all the variables and calculating his chances. The captain was cruel and universally hated. The pirates had had to be clever catching the wind to reach them; he’d been assured that this was the fastest ship in the Caribbean. (Though Mycroft was beginning to suspect that that may have been a bold-faced lie.) The ship sailed low in the water from the weight of her hold, a tempting target.

It didn’t add up to a comforting sum. The crew would resist the attack, since it was uncertain if any quarter would be given. But if they could be guaranteed their lives, Mycroft had no reason to doubt their disloyalty.

He could hear the roar of the cannons and the sound of wooden timbers splintering. What did he have that he could offer in exchange for his own survival? He couldn’t bargain the trade goods in the hold. They were not his by law, and the pirates would no doubt acquire them in their own time with no assistance required.

There was no love lost between him and his younger brother Sherlock, but his elder brother Sherringford might be convinced to pay a ransom. Her Majesty might pay for his recovery, but he was not supposed to be known to be in this part of the world, and the gambit would only work if he could convince the pirates’ captain that the Crown would pay for his safe return.

Mycroft was a realist. He knew he didn’t look like the sort of person who could command a sizeable bounty. He studiously avoided the thought that appearances rarely mattered for the _other_ services a pirate might deem fair trade for a life.

The clash of swords and cries of pain brought his attention sharply back to the moment. Fighting on deck could mean quick discovery; he only had a handful of moments at most before the pirates would know he was here.

Mycroft quickly bundled his papers together into a pile and sealed his inkwell. The two most important sheets he folded in half and tucked into his shirt against his skin. He rarely carried weapons, but the Caribbean was a dangerous place. He pulled the knife from his boot and the pistol from his drawer. He laid them on his desk in plain view of the door and backed away as much as the room would allow, keeping his hands easily visible.

Then, heart thumping in his ears, Mycroft waited to be found.

It didn’t take long. The fighting began to die down quickly (and Mycroft hoped that was a sign of surrender, and not the swift result of no quarter given). Even while scuffling was still audible on deck, heavy footsteps began advancing down the narrow hall toward his chamber.

The door opened with a bang and the man in his doorway grinned darkly. “Well, wot do we ‘ave here?”

Mycroft attempted to keep his voice level and his hands still. “If you would be so kind as to take me to your captain,” he said as politely as he could.

“If I would be so kind, ‘e says,” the pirate repeated, and Mycroft could hear another man laughing in the hall. It was not a pleasant sound.

Mycroft attempted to look as unthreatening as possible.

The pirate scowled. “Well a’right then,” he conceded. “I can kill you as easily on deck can’t I? Keep the mess down, at any rate.”

Mycroft accepted the small victory. Any minute he wasn’t being killed by a pirate was a minute he had to figure out how to _not_ be killed by pirates.

At the pirate’s gesture, Mycroft carefully stepped out of his room and walked down the hall, keeping his hands raised. To his relief, there weren’t as many bodies lying on the deck as there could have been. The captain and first mate were unsurprisingly among the deceased. However, it looked like most of the crew had been corralled onto one side of the deck, nervously awaiting judgement.

That judgement came in the form of slow bootsteps which instantly quieted the pirates and silenced the captured crew. As he stepped forward, Mycroft got his first look at the pirate captain.

 _Silver_ was the first thing he noticed. Followed shortly by the thought that the man was handsome enough to turn all heads. This was, of course, immediately followed by an instinctual repression of his instantaneous desire to see if he was as handsome up close or in the light of an early morning. Although there were rumors of looser morals aboard pirate vessels, that was no excuse for encouraging any sort of _deviant_ behavior, even in his own mind.

“And what do we have here?” the man asked, ignoring the crew and looking pointedly in Mycroft’s direction. It was an English accent, Mycroft noted, similar to that spoken by the lower-born folk near where he had grown up.

“Passenger,” the pirate who had grabbed him explained.

Mycroft found himself abruptly pushed forward and barely caught himself from falling on his face. He met the captain’s eyes. They were brown and warmer than he had expected. He was more handsome up close, Mycroft thought wistfully before ruthless squashing the thought.

The captain looked amazed. “Mycroft Holmes, as I live and breathe,” he exclaimed. “How odd the world is, to find us both here on this end of it.”

The pirates behind him startled. Mycroft himself was caught by surprise, which he tried to avoid as a general rule. He took a moment to look at the man in his entirety, instead of as an amalgamation of tanned skin, brown eyes, and distinctive silver hair.

“Gregory,” Mycroft said in astonishment. “Gregory Lestrade.” For it was. Gregory, the boy who had lived in town not far from his parents’ country estate. Gregory, whose father had died suddenly, leaving his mother with no income and three children. Gregory, who had enlisted in the Navy while Mycroft was at university. Gregory, who had caused the first indications that Mycroft might harbor _perverse_ tendencies. Gregory, who was once and for all dismissing any doubts Mycroft may have had on that front.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Gregory asked him, as if they were exchanging greetings at a pub and not across the deck of a ship surrounded by pirates, blood sticky on the bottom of Mycroft’s boots.

“I was overseeing the shipment of these goods to Jamestown,” he said, the lie slipping easily to his tongue. It was the cover story he had been using and, with the captain dead, there was no one to gainsay him.

Gregory didn’t hesitate, and he didn’t look apologetic. “I’m afraid we can’t let you keep those,” he told Mycroft. “Pirates,” he explained with a smirk that left Mycroft momentarily breathless. The pirates laughed.

“Quite understandable,” Mycroft managed. “If I could be allowed to leave with my life and my papers?”

Gregory looked at him in contemplation, drawing his eyes from Mycroft’s boots all the way up to his hair, which Mycroft knew was an untidy ginger mess. He felt his skin warm at the careful attention and hoped it could be overlooked as the beginning of a mild sunburn. From the self-satisfied grin that spread over Gregory’s face, Mycroft doubted his reaction had gone unnoticed.

“I’m sure we can work something out,” he drawled.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, I bet you'll love [No Quarter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18029903/chapters/42602249) by Mottlemouth, which is another pirate!Mystrade fic and is very excellent.


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